A Lesson
by Cynewulf
Summary: What happens to someone who tries to harras an Amberite? A one shot. Rating because of bad language (somewhat worse than in the Chronicles).


Disclaimer: Amber and the Amberites belong to Roger Zelazny. So there.   
  
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A/N: I know I have a similar situation in my other Amber fic, "A Long Journey to Amber", but here the character is different. What   
  
I'm trying to say is: don't think that Jacqueline is a daughter of Gerard's and that this is a fic about her. This is a different Mary Sue   
  
here :)   
  
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(Gerard's daughter speaking)  
  
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Ticket collectors in buses are not my favorite sort of people, but I usually let them be. When you are an Amberite, you basically   
  
know you own worth, and you don't feel an urge to prove it all the time, right? Anyway, my selfcontrol got much better during the   
  
last decades. It might be Benedict's influence, or Vialle's... I feel much calmer and selfsure since I've begun to spend more time with   
  
the Family, in any case. But, no selfcontrol is eternal or unbreakable, and besides, if someone practically challenges you for a fight,   
  
you can't refuse; it's a matter of honor - even if a challenger is a commoner from the Shadow Earth.  
  
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I haven't killed anybody for a time, so I haven't done it now either, and I'm happy because of it. Otherwise I would probably have   
  
guilt trips, conscience attacks, and similar cheerful things that I inevitably take with me wherever I go. But, a little lesson for the   
  
ticket collector is not a bad idea, is it? Especially if he is a pissed off idiot...  
  
You probably know what I look like - a slender girl with a gentle face that looks as if she were thirteen. Okay, sixteen. Besides, you   
  
shouldn't forget my eyes: wide and, like, amazed. Eternally amazed. Lost in space and time. Slightly sad. I sometimes wish I had a   
  
sharp look around me, really.  
  
P  
  
You see, here is how the evil ticket collectors (tainted by the Dark One!) chose they victims, i.e. people they can get pissed off with:   
  
they chose something female (so she can't beat them up), something lost in space (so that she wouldn't remember an appropriate   
  
answer until it's too late), and something kind-looking (so that she would be too shocked by their behavior to react). So, I am -   
  
judging by my appearance - a perfect victim for them, right?  
  
P  
  
- May I ask you something? May I? - he growled as I paid for my ticket - Why do you lot fold your money like that? Ha? All of   
  
you?  
  
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I needed some ten seconds to collect my thoughts, transfer from the book I was reading at the moment to the immediate reality of   
  
Shadow Earth. I had to rewind his words in my head in order to understand them. The words weren't that important, though; on the   
  
other hand, the itone of voice/ihe used made my stomach jump and contract. When have I last heard a voice so filled, so   
  
packed with silent aggression? I couldn't remember. This guy sounded even worse than my uncle Julian, and that should mean   
  
something. On the other hand, when uncle Julian was pissed off that was okay, his aggression was even cute in a way; it was just   
  
one of his mannerisms. You know what I mean, my dad drinks at iBloody Bill's /i(or is it called iBloody Andy's/i now?),   
  
Random plays his drums, Julian hates the whole world. We love them all in spite of that (although I wouldn't dare tell that to some   
  
of them).  
  
P  
  
But it was different with the ticket collector, there wasn't anything dear or cute around him, I could say. I can always feel such   
  
things.  
  
P  
  
Anyway, it all ran trough my head during the aforementioned ten seconds, while I lifted my eyes from the book to meet his   
  
narrowed eyes that stared at me with... - hatred? How can you hate someone only because they keep they money in a pocket, so the   
  
money gets all folded and doesn't ilook nice/i or whatever? I mean, hatred is a serious feeling, an attention-worth emotion,   
  
carefully bred for years. As my father's daughter, I idon't/i hate. It's not a policy or anything - I just don't know how to. But I   
  
know many people who ido/i, and I know a thing or two about hatred (I'm still a member of Amber's royal family, aren't I?). I   
  
know, for example, that you idon't/i waste it on passers-by. Being pissed off, yes. Grumbling, fine. Swearing is always   
  
acceptable, and sometimes welcome. But, ihatred/i?  
  
P  
  
Yet another thing I know about hatred is how to recognize it, and I knew that the ticket collector ihated/i me, just as he   
  
probably ihated/i half the people in this shadow. Preliminary. Just in case.  
  
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- Ha? Why does the money look that way? Ha?  
  
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The well known temper of Rilga's descendants leaped up in me and tried to fight its way out, but I pushed it down and took the   
  
control over it. If I didn't, if I had jumped to defend Amber's honor (as my dad would have done) or to ishow the motherfucking   
  
commoner bastards who they are bloody talking to/i , as uncle Julian would have, I probably wouldn't have been able to restrain   
  
myself at all. You know what happens when avalanche is already rolling. And I didn't want to ihurt/i anyone, I really didn't...  
  
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iWhat would Fiona do?/i  
  
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Julian gave me a tip once: iWhenever I want to explode, when I can't calm down, and want to be terribly utactless/u, when   
  
talking to some ambassadors - the guys you uwant/u to make run in front of your dogs, but uhave/u to be nice to,   
  
basically - whenever I'm in such a situation, I wonder what Fiona would do. Usually works. /i  
  
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Fiona and I, now... we have never loved each other greatly, or been too close, but we haven't been in a conflict either. Ever. We   
  
were even sort of friends for a time - sort of. I have always admired her because of her calmness, calculations, ability to scheme,   
  
and power over people - although I have never really desired to be that way. We, the descendants of Rilga, don't function that way   
  
(except maybe Caine, but Caine is long dead, and I've never met him...).  
  
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But... You know that sort of people, the Fiona sort. I'm sure you have an aunt or a cousin who resembles Fiona a bit. When you are   
  
harassed by the teachers at school, shopkeepers, clerks... - and you can't do anything but kill them (which you don't want to do) or   
  
keep silent (which you can't do for long, either, and you know the explosion is near) - in such a situation you send Fiona - your own   
  
Fiona - to deal with them. She usually wants do do it for you, although I have never really known what her motivation might be:   
  
maybe the fact that you asked for help pumps her ego up, maybe she writes it all down and one day she'll ask you to pay your   
  
debts... maybe she thinks it's the honor of Amber she is defending (ino one/i threats an Amberite that way, mark my   
  
words!)... who knows. I only know Fiona had spent hours and hours sitting at my PTA meetings while I went to school at Shadow   
  
Earth. I never dared send dad to those meetings. Gerard is not that type, really, and in that I'm like him. Where Gerard would make   
  
a major fuss, Fiona simply arches a perfect eyebrow, speaks icily in a low voice, and makes them iall/i tremble before her. Yet   
  
another of her abilities I admire.  
  
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iWhat would Fiona do/i  
  
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I lifted my eyes towards the ticket collector, looked at him long and icily, arched the right eyebrow (I can't arch the left one,   
  
unfortunately); then I spoke up in a voice that was hopefully low and icy, or whatever.  
  
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- We lot? All of ius/i? I see only myself here. Now, you are trying to icategorize/i me, are you not?  
  
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Not the brightest or the wittiest answer in the world, I admit, but my brain works differently. I'm logical and thorough. I'll leave   
  
inspiration to others.  
  
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The ticket collector winced a bit, or I thought so at least, but the next moment he was shooting again.  
  
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- You lot! Yes, all of you! Brats! You don't respect anything. You don't respect the money your parents earned in their bloody   
  
sweat! And you don't respect your elders either! How dare you speak to me like this!?  
  
P  
  
How dare I speak to him like this? How do I, daughter to Gerard of Amber and Elien of Diega... How do iI/i dare speak like   
  
this to ihim/i, a bloody ticket collector on Shadow Earth, a ticket collector that can't use even his own language correctly, and   
  
not to mention knowledge of history, geography, or, Gods forbid, strategy? How dare iI/i speak to ihim/i like this? It   
  
cooked inside me!  
  
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iWhat would Fiona do, what would Fiona do, whatwouldfionado?/i  
  
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I rose slowly, my back very straight, my chin high. The guy was taller than me, but that didn't stop me from looking down at him.   
  
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- You require irespect/i, do you? From ime/i? - I said icily - Based on what, pray? Is perhaps icourage/i reason for   
  
that respect? Loyalty? Ethics? Are you perhaps the best fleet commander in history? A strategist, maybe? Or is it your intelligence   
  
that needs to be respected? Education? Are you a scientist? An academic? What?   
  
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He hesitated for a moment, looking at me, and I was not sure if he had at all understood what I was talking about... Why would   
  
anyone need a ireason/i to respect you, if you are bigger than them and if you hold such a high position as a ticket bloody   
  
collector on a bus? He didn't like my tone of voice, however, I could see it in his eyes that grew dark.  
  
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- Who are you, ha? What? Came here to bugger me, have you? Your daddy protects you, I'm sure! I'm sure he holds a high   
  
position, has money too, I bet. So you think you can do anything? No one will talk to me like this on my iown/i bus, do you   
  
hear?! Out with you! Out!  
  
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I thought I heard the driver's voice somewhere in the background, begging the ticket collector to calm down, to chill out, we'll find a   
  
way... I didn't stop to listen, however.  
  
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I little disdainful laughter would be in place now, I decided, so I chuckled cheekily, looking him right in the eyes, although I didn't   
  
feel amused at all. Fiona had disappeared from my thoughts ages ago, as it seemed. He says isomething/i to me, to ime/i   
  
who have bled for Amber so many times, to me who have lost two siblings in Amber's service, so that all the people -   
  
shadow-inhabitants, too - could live in peace? iHe/i didn't know anything about the perils that had threatened his little,   
  
insignificant world, as well as hundreds of thousands other worlds. And that was fine. He wasn't supposed to know. But on the   
  
other hand... On the other hand!!!  
  
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Who am I??? iWhat am I/i??? I am the very fucking person who defeated the Chaosite armada with only small and   
  
half-destroyed Diegan fleet behind me, that's who I am! Does my dad hold a high position? He bloody well does, but he had   
  
deserved the fucking position! With courage, loyalty, and self-sacrifice, same as myself! And I wont have a ticket collector on a distant shadow talk about him or me or our family in this manner!  
  
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I knew at once what his next movement will be, and I awaited it with glee - the same sick kind of glee you feel in battle, with a bunch   
  
of enemies around you, and you wield your axe and scream something incomprehensible on the line with: "Amber is gonna kick   
  
your arse, you motherfuckers!"  
  
P  
  
He tried to slap me. It maybe wouldn't drive me that mad if... If I didn't know that he wouldn't have dared slap anyone bigger than   
  
myself, more male than myself, or looking stronger than myself. He found a girl who looked like a slender teenager to make fight to?   
  
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Well, he deserved a lesson!  
  
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I decided I wouldn't try to duck his aimed slap - that would represent respect of sorts, and I didn't want that. So I rose my left hand   
  
and grabbed his right in the middle of the motion. He looked at me first, his eyes amazed, as if he felt betrayed in a way... and then   
  
he tried to break free. Break free from my Amberite grip? No way, baby!  
  
P  
  
People don't call me Ironfist for nothing, and it's not only black hair and cow eyes that I had inherited from Gerard. I tightened my   
  
grip until the guy squeaked, and then I twisted his hand and twirled him to the floor. Everything was finished in a couple of seconds,   
  
and with my nose high and trying to look as regal as possible, I walked down from the bus that stopped abruptly. I have missed my   
  
bus stop, but it didn't matter. I triumphed. Ah, how I triumphed!  
  
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Some three minutes later, of course, I began feeling like crap. No excuses worked for myself. It didn't matter that he dared speak of   
  
my father in a disrespectful manner. It didn't matter that he thought he was speaking to a weaker person whom he could harass   
  
without punishment. I knew he would have acted differently were I Gerard's ison/i, but that didn't matter either.  
  
P  
  
What mattered was that I have let myself lose self-control again, lose control with someone I knew was weaker than me, was   
  
probably poor and frustrated, with low wages, and a hateful wife. Or something. He was inothing/i. Even if he imagined he   
  
was isomething/i, what's that to me? Who am I to prove differently, probably destroying what little self-esteem he had?  
  
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Who am I to give lessons?  
  
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A/N: Okay, now I've done everything I could about html codes here, but they still don't work. What am I doing wrong? Somebody tell me, please, I'm a computer idiot *rolleyes* 


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